I first met Oscar Wilde about a year before he was released from Reading Gaol. He was thin and had pustules on the skin of his face and bad breath.We had many conversations over that year and I watched on the day of his release as he was hurried away in a coach and horses organised by his supporters and friends that did not desert him and hoped to help him recover
Even in those evil days,there were good people who believed in prison reform.I was a member of such a group, and that is how I met Oscar.
Due to his kind and personable nature and I believe the intervention of an assistant governor who was empathetic to Oscar’s predicamemt. I believe he had the same proclivities as dear Oscar,although hid it ver well.Oscar, had been given certain privileges having suffered the indignities of a horrendous first few months of picking twine and the thing that was notoriously called the hamster wheel.Initially it was felt an example should be seen to be made.
Within a few months,however,he was given pen and paper,and a chance to have visitors.This unfortunately did not extend to providing health care,which in truth Oscar needed.However,I was allowed to bring some relief by supplying him with “drops” which I believe eased his aches and pains ,though it was obvious by then,Oscar’s health was deteriorating but the “drops” eased his pain.
One thing Oscar did was talk,and we talked and talked about every subject under the sun. I didn’t so much fall in love with the man ,but with his intellect.He was in love with everyone and everything he saw through falsehood and had passions for beauty that I could only imagine.He loved and his passion for loving rubbed off on me.
Oh my, as an aside, that sounds quite rude and made me blush,but we did not have that sort of relationship,and sitting now in my comfortable armchair, I can only regret we did not. Oscar loved in all ways.
But I must calm myself.I am not progressing my story of The River Chimera.For Oscar was indeed a mystical man,his story of Dorian Gray had a profound effect on me, and I told him so,many times,and he argued that it was a story a fiction. His strength of feeling was such ,I knew there was more to the story than he would admit.
The last time I saw Oscar was in a bar at Calais,his pustules were covered in heavy theatrical make-up, and his eyes were outlined in red and looked deep set within their sockets.He did not look long for this World.
Oscar wanted money from me, and I was more than happy to give it to him.I had known the man, and he was a good man.If I could help, I would.
The Oscar I had known was not the man sitting in front of me blustering and guffawing .There was no longer any connection between us ,his brain purely sought material means,there was no joy or happiness.It was mechanical.I was a means to an end.In truth, his brain had gone,destroyed by syphilis.
Dorian Gray ,though, stuck in my mind. It was a picture on my living room wall that made me think again of the story. At first, it seemed harmless, it was a view of a river.
However,when I sat in my chair and looked in the mirror;the picture was reflected back at me.It was then I noticed the subtle changes in the picture,as the winter night continued.
The river in reflection, showed various images of chimaera,both animal and human.Horrible creatures that stared at me and beckoned me into their worlds.I could not help but stare back at them. Some looked like dragons,some like staring eyes of men or gigantic slugs with wings.
Yet I would look back at the picture, and it contained only the attractive scenic view of the river.What the mirror reflected, I will never know or be able to question why these apparitions appeared.I would if Oscar had still been alive and at the height of his powers have asked him.
The images disturb me ,yet I keep the mirror and will not move the painting.Oscar faced his fears, and I also will do so…..
thenotsomightyom 